Old Morris

keeping time with the timelessness of human travail and persecution ...

 

 

 

Old Morris wore a Yakama and a ragged beard.

He played Gypsy jazz

And ‘Claire de Lune’

And sometimes the cantors’ melodies.

 

Small coins pattered against

The 1960 Bronx courtyard ground …

Polite applause from the upper floors

They always applauded the loudest.

 

Old Morris’ serenade never failed

“Violin Concert at four.”

Every day at four

Old Morris played for coins.

 

Like sunrise every morning,

the snow that flies in December

The four o’clock show

Was a sure bet.

 

Like an Elgin watch, in synch

Always right on time, never failed.

Not like his rolled down sleeves

Worn in all kinds of weather.

 

Sliding up once, one let me see

Numbers.  I saw tattooed numbers

On Old Morris’ arm, numbers

And then I saw the numbness ….

 

In his eyes I saw the numbness

Same as Aunt Osie from Georgia

It was then that in his melodies

I began to hear his blues.

Reviews

[mope]

As I read this I was thinking how brilliant this piece is. And then "I saw tattooed numbers". That explained completely why you have been inspired to craft this so well. I saw tattooed numbers about 25 years ago and the memory has stilled me everytime I am reminded of that day.

Thank you.

[manchilld99]

"Old Morris wore a YAMAKA ..."

[just rose.]

Yes. I too have seen these numbers, and it's a startling thing to be talking about the weather or playing the blues with those tattoos. Brilliant tribute here. And wonderful ending.